


All That Remains is Love

by Rays



Series: Destiny Verse [5]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, A Lot of Death, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Missing Scenes, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rays/pseuds/Rays
Summary: 5 times Quentin and Eliot deal with death and the 1 time they move forward from it.





	1. Ted Coldwater

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that got in my head and would not leave me alone until it was done! I hope everyone likes it! The title comes from the song "Your Love" by Allman Brown

Eliot had not found any luck at attracting a mentor, though it was still early he needed something to take the edge off his anxiety. That something was the cute first-year boy with the nose ring that hung off Eliot’s arm and was impressed with everything he said. It was a good ego boost, and the kid had the most beautiful lips Eliot had ever seen. He’d been fantasizing about those lips on his cock ever since he saw him walking across the great lawn a few weeks ago.

 

As they stumbled down the hall, they passed Quentin’s room, and the door was open. Even with the cute boy kissing his neck, Eliot couldn’t help but peek inside, checking to see if his favorite nerd was in there. Quentin was in his room, sitting on the floor at the end of his bed hugging his knees to his chest. Eliot frowned and stopped the nose ring boy with a gentle push. Quentin’s hair was covering his face, but Eliot saw his shoulders shaking. Eliot didn’t know what it was about him because not for the first time, he felt like he couldn’t just walk away when Quentin was upset. 

 

“Sorry Tom,” Eliot said turning to his companion. 

 

“It’s Steven,” the kid said nervously. Eliot looked him up and down. He didn’t look like a Steven.

 

“Whatever,” he said. “We are going to have to end it here. It was a nice time, but you can run along now.” Steven’s mouth dropped, and it was just how Eliot imagined it would look. He sighed and tucked his finger under Steven’s chin. “Now, now, don’t tempt me, off you go.” he shooed Steven away with his hands and went into Quentin’s room.

 

“Dick,” he heard from behind him, but Eliot didn’t care. He looked down at Quentin, who hadn’t even realized he’d come in the room. The poor boy was a jumble of emotions all the time, each one fighting the others to be the one to get out. 

 

“Everything alright?” Quentin jumped slightly and looked up with wide eyes at Eliot standing in his doorway. Eliot smiled, Quentin was adorable, and every time he was around him Eliot felt something pulling his attention to the younger man in a way he’d never experienced.

 

“Oh, hey Eliot,” Quentin said quickly wiping his eyes. “I’m fine.” Eliot snorted and came further into the room.

 

“Right,” he said taking a seat next to Quentin on the ground. “And I’m sober. What seems to be the problem?” Quentin looked at him carefully, like he was trying to figure out how genuine Eliot was being. He still seemed so shocked that Eliot would talk to him, that he had made friends in this new place. It was endearing as hell.

 

“It’s my dad,” Quentin finally said. “He’s sick, cancer. I just found out today.” 

 

“Shit,” Eliot breathed, and Quentin nodded. Eliot suddenly felt utterly useless and pulled his knees up. He had no idea what he could say to make Quentin feel better now, the topic of fathers was not one Eliot was well versed in; especially when it came to sympathizing about a father. “Are you and your dad close?” he asked. Quentin pulled himself tighter and shrugged.

 

“Not really,” he said. “He’s a good dad, he just never really understood me I guess.”  he looked to Eliot for understanding and Eliot gave him a small smile.

 

“I don’t think parents ever understand their kids,” he said, and Quentin nodded slightly in agreement.

 

“I never really thought about him dying,” he admitted, and Eliot let his legs drop down, and he reached his hand over and rested it on Quentin’s arm.

 

“Why would you?” he asked. “You’re young, and cancer is unfair.”  Quentin nodded, and he seemed to loosen up a little himself. “How bad is it?”

 

“Worse than he’s letting on,” Quentin said with a roll of his eyes. “So it can’t be good.” It probably wasn’t, and Eliot squeezed Quentin’s arm.

 

“It’s nice that he wants to protect you.” Eliot pointed out. Maybe the need to take care of this depressed mess next to him was an impulse everyone around him had. Hell, even Margo had softened to Quentin faster than she did to most people.

 

“Do you have a dad?” Quentin’s question caught him off guard, and he dropped his hand from where it had been resting on Quentin’s arm. Quentin looked worried, picking up quickly on Eliot’s discomfort. “Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer.” Eliot waved a hand quickly, not wanting Quentin to feel bad about anything.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I have a dad. Just, not a good one.” Quentin didn’t say anything for a few minutes, looking down at his fidgeting hands while thoughts must have been slamming around his stressed brain. Eliot just waited patiently and tried to ignore the itch he felt for a cigarette.

 

“He doesn't understand you?” Quentin asked finally looking up. Eliot smiled sadly and shrugged.

 

“Not at all,” he said. “He has the philosophy of that if you smack a kid around enough, they’ll suddenly mold into what you think they should be. Trouble for him, it never worked on me.” He didn’t know why he was telling him this. Much like with the story about Logan, it just came out. It felt like maybe Quentin needed to hear this. If he could see that he was lucky to have a dad that who, although may not have fully understood his son, but was at least was a good dad.  Maybe that was how Eliot could offer his new friend the slightest bit of comfort during a time when nothing anyone would say could make much of a difference. Quentin gave him a long look, the expression on his face unchanging. Then he relaxed back against the bed a little more.

 

“I’m glad it didn’t,” he said, and Eliot felt a warm rush fill him, something that felt better than the drugs he had taken earlier and probably a lot better than whatever blowjob nose ring boy could have given him. Quentin’s head fell back against the bed, and he stared up at the ceiling, his leg resting against Eliot’s.

 

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Eliot said, and Quentin’s eyes moved over to meet his.

 

“I’m sorry about your dad too,” Eliot smiled, and they sat together, not really talking about anything for the rest of the night.


	2. Cancer Puppy

Quentin couldn’t believe he killed Cancer Puppy. He and Eliot stood in shock over the dead animal for a long while before Eliot snapped into action. Grabbing the materials they had used, he cleared them away, shouting out instructions to Quentin to help but Quentin couldn’t move. He had actually killed a puppy, what kind of monster did that make him? Eliot finally scooped the puppy back into the carrier and grabbed Quentin by the arm. Pulling him out of the classroom, he told him that no one needed to know that they had been in there.

 

“What are we going tell everyone about-” he pointed to the carrier Eliot held. They had made it back to the cottage, but neither thought that going inside with the dead mascot was a good idea; especially since the party was still going on.

 

“We’ll just tell them the enchantment must have worn off,” Eliot said quickly. “No one has to know you did this.” Panic slammed into Quentin with those words, and he felt sick to his stomach.

 

“Oh god,” Quentin said, his heart pounding. “I did this; I killed cancer puppy!” Eliot set the carrier down and turned to Quentin. Placing both hands on Quentin’s shoulders, he turned him, so they were facing each other.

 

“Hey,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to panic. Can you do that?” Quentin closed his eyes and nodded. Panicking would get them nowhere, and Eliot's strong grip seemed to steady him. “Ok good, then we should bury him.” Quentin opened his eyes again, and Eliot was now peeking into the carrier sadly.

 

“You want to bury him?” he asked.

 

“Well yeah,” Eliot said looking up. “He deserves a funeral.” Quentin looked over his shoulder at the cottage with music and the sounds of their classmates partying inside. 

 

“Should we tell anyone else?” He asked.

 

“No,” Eliot said quickly. “If anyone else needs to say their goodbyes we'll tell them where he's buried. This should just be us. We did this” Quentin felt a small portion of the burden lift with Eliot’s small admission that some blame lay with him. Though Quentin didn’t think Eliot should blame himself, it was oddly comforting.

 

“Okay,” Quentin agreed. 

 

“I'll find a good spot, and you go find something to bury him in.” Quentin nodded numbly. He had no idea where he would find something they could use as a puppy casket. “And don't talk to anyone,” Eliot called out as he started walking towards the cottage. “I think you're adorable Quentin, but you are a terrible liar.” And now Quentin felt nervous. He narrowed his eyes at Eliot, who just smiled at him before he walked away.

 

***************************

 

“A shoebox?” Quentin shrugged as he held the brown shoebox out to Eliot. “Jesus Quentin, he’s not a hamster.” Quentin frowned and pulled the box away.

 

“There wasn’t much of a selection,” he said. “If you wanted something special then you should have gone in there and got it.” Eliot took the box from him and turned it around in his hands a bit.

 

“No, you needed to go,” he said. “Someone would have grabbed me right when I walked in. No one would stop you, and we need to get this done.” Quentin put his hands on his hips and scoffed.

 

“That’s why you made me get the box?” he asked, feeling slightly offended. “Because no one notices me?” Eliot looked up from the box and reached out to pat his shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said smiling. “I _always_ notice you.” Quentin dropped his head with a sigh. It was strangely comforting that in this gruesome moment of his life after killing a puppy, Eliot would still find a way to flirt with him.

 

“Thank you,” he said shaking his head. “That’s really reassuring.” Eliot smiled brightly, seemingly proud of himself.  “Now should we bury him?” Eliot nodded and held up the box again.

 

“Is he even going to fit into this?” he asked. 

 

“Maybe,” Quentin said squinting at the box. He had grabbed it out of Margo’s room; it had been the first box of anything he saw. “It looks like it was for a boot.”  Eliot got down on the ground on his knees next to the small hole he had probably used magic to dig, and carefully pulled out Gerald. The sight of the limp and lifeless body of a puppy that had been on this Earth longer than even Quentin’s Grandparents in Eliot’s hands made Quentin feel sick and sunk down to his knees as well. Eliot placed him carefully in the box and hesitated before putting the lid on and setting it into the hole. Quentin looked at Eliot out of the corner of his eye. He looked sad, and Quentin began to worry that Eliot was mad at him for killing the puppy.

 

“Gerald was old,” Eliot started solemnly. “But he always managed to keep his youthful looks,” Eliot smirked at Quentin across the hole who rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Gerald, for providing generation after generation with joy and wonder and for that; you can finally rest.” Eliot moved his hands over the hole, and soon it magically began to fill, grass growing perfectly on top as it had never been disturbed. 

 

“That was nice,” Quentin said honestly. “I’m really sorry Eliot, I know you liked him. I should never have gotten you involved; I should never have done it in the first place.” Eliot gave him a soft kind of look, an expression that seemed to be reserved for when they were alone. 

 

“It’s okay,” He stood up then and held out a hand for Quentin to help him stand. As they walked toward the cottage, Eliot’s hand never let go of Quentin’s arm. His hand felt warm and calming, and Quentin silently hoped he wouldn’t move it away. “You wanted to figure out how to save your dad, that’s one of the noblest reasons to do something risky. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. Besides, that poor dog was probably in more pain than he should have.” Eliot pulled his hand away and instead brought his arm up and draped it across Quentin’s shoulders.

 

“Thank you,” Quentin said trying to hide the smile that slowly spread across his face. The first real smile since he found out about his dad. 

 

“You are going to have to tell the Dean though,” Quentin looked at him sharply. 

 

“What?” he asked. “You said we could say the enchantment wore off.” They stopped walking, and Eliot pulled his arm back and faced Quentin fully.

 

“Sure, to everyone else, but this is one of those things that you have to tell the Dean. It’s the-” he stopped and dramatically placed one hand on his stomach and the other on Quentin’s shoulder as if to steady himself. “ _Responsible_ thing to do.” he practically gagged on his words and Quentin frowned and swatted Eliot’s hand away. Eliot chuckled and began walking towards the cottage again.

 

“We should both tell the Dean then,” Quentin said following him. “We were both in that room.”

 

“Yes,” Eliot said and held up a finger. “But it was your idea.” 

 

“Which you just called noble!” Quentin pointed out.

 

“And it was!” Eliot stressed. “It was very sexy, trust me, but it was still wrong so you gotta tell him.” Quentin knew he was right. He had already screwed up once before; it probably would look better if he were upfront about it.

 

“Fine,” Quentin said with a pout. 

 

“Great,” Eliot said brightly as they made it to the back door of the cottage. “Now let's go do some more wrong stuff together.” Before Quentin could say a word, Eliot pulled him inside and straight to the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Mike

Quentin’s heart was pounding as he ran down the hall and into the cold and dungeon-like building that they had been keeping Mike. Professor Sunderland sent him a note telling him to come immediately. She didn’t specify what happened, but Quentin could only assume that Mike had talked or they had finally figured out it was the Beast. Maybe Eliza was ready to tell him everything. Whatever it was, he had dropped everything.

The whole room was busy with people Quentin didn’t recognize. The place smelled terrible before, stale and moldy but there was a new metallic smell he quickly realized was blood. Quentin saw Professor Lipson and some other healers; Professor Sunderland was talking to a few men who were taking notes when she saw Quentin. She nodded to the men and then walked over.

“Quentin,” she said, her hands folding in front of her. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” 

“What happened?” he asked, gaping at her in shock. Sunderland could barely meet his gaze.

“It seems there may have been mind control at play here.” he could tell that was hard for her to admit and Quentin felt his stomach drop. “We have reason to believe it was the Beast. Dean Fogg was injured, but he will recover. Eliza is dead.” Quentin felt his heart stop and his eyes widened in shock.

“Dead?” he said. “She can’t be dead, she was supposed-” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of a stretcher being wheeled out, a white sheet pulled tightly around a bloody figure. His messenger bag slipped from his shoulder, and his legs threatened to turn to jello.

“Mr. Waugh is here.” Quentin snapped back to attention. Pulling his bag up, he started looking around the room for his friend.

“Eliot?” he asked. “What’s he doing here?” Before Sunderland could answer, another stretcher came into view, another body being wheeled out. Quentin felt the room spin and could taste the bile that seemed to be rising in the back of his throat.

“That’s Mike Mccormick,” Sunderland said quickly, probably guessing where Quentin’s mind had gone. Quentin could have collapsed right there from relief, and he straightened himself up a bit. 

“Okay,” Quentin said. “Where's Eliot?”

*******************************

When Quentin finally was taken to Eliot, he was sitting on the floor nearby where they said everything went down. He sat with his back against a wall, his shirt untucked and his usually perfect hair hung loose and fell into his pale, expressionless face. He didn’t even seem to notice Quentin standing in front of him.

Professor Sunderland explained that they had been unable to get him to move from this spot. He gave them a quick statement as to what had happened, asked if Dean Fogg was okay but not much else. When they asked who he wanted them to contact, he said Quentin. Quentin was sure that if Margo were here, instead of where ever she'd run off too, then it would be her instead. He selfishly wished she was here because Quentin had no idea how he was supposed to handle this. He had never seen Eliot like this before, and Quentin felt nowhere near qualified to comfort someone who had just been forced to kill their boyfriend.

“Eliot?” Eliot turned his head to look up at Quentin, his eyes hollow and dark. Quentin's hand tightened around the strap of his messenger bag.

“Oh, hey Q,” he almost sounded bored. His tone was so different from his appearance that it sent a chill down Quentin's spine. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Quentin said kneeling down next to him. Eliot’s eyes found Quentin’s for a moment before they began to look anywhere but at him.

“It turns out Mike was here to kill you, did you know that?” he asked with a hollow chuckle. Quentin was taken aback by his quick mention of Mike, he swallowed hard and tried to keep his expression calm.

“I heard,” he said quietly.

“You know, I always wanted two cute boys fighting over me,” Eliot met Quentin’s gaze again, and he snorted. “Didn’t really happen the way I thought it would. All this kinda ruins the fantasy don’t you think?” he started to feel around his pockets and pulled out an empty pack of his Merit cigarettes. “Hey, do you have a cigarette? I seem to be out.” Quentin just gaped at him. Eliot was apparently in shock and Quentin didn’t know the first thing he was supposed to do. Deciding that he needed to at least get Eliot out of here, he reached out and took the empty pack from him.

“I don’t,” he said calmly. “But I bet you have some back in your room; I’ll take you there. We’ll find some.” Eliot looked away from Quentin and to a spot a few yards away. Craning his neck around, Quentin didn’t know where exactly Eliot was looking but could assume it was to the spot that Mike had died, where Eliot had killed him. He turned back to Eliot and put his hand on his knee. “Come on, let's get out of here.” Eliot looked back and then slowly nodded.

“I should probably take a shower,” he said looking down at himself. “I don’t want to be in these clothes anymore.” he fingered one of the buttons on his vest and Quentin thought back to Eliot’s frantic search for the right vest to wear for Mike. His vision blurred suddenly, and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, a shower sounds really nice,” he said squeezing Eliot’s knee. “Let’s stand up, and we’ll go.” Quentin stood and held out a hand to Eliot, who slowly took it, and Quentin also had to take his arm to get him to him fully up. Eliot took a few shaky steps before Quentin rushed forward and got Eliot’s arm across his shoulders. With his arm securely around Eliot’s waist to steady him, the two of them walked out of there together.

***************************************

Eliot promised that he was able to take a shower on his own safely, but Quentin sat outside the door just in case. He never would forgive himself if Eliot tried to hurt himself and Quentin had just walked away. After about twenty minutes, the water shut off and Quentin pressed his ear to the door to try to hear what was happening. He realized how this pretty much made him a gross creeper when Eliot opened the door, and Quentin fell back onto his ass. 

“Shit,” he said scrambling to get himself up. “Sorry, that was weird, I shouldn’t have been-I wasn’t-I just wanted-” he trailed off as Eliot just looked at him, his face almost calm, only his eyes squinting slightly in confusion.

“You're still here,” he said.

“Will you stop acting so surprised?” Quentin asked. “Did the shower help?” Eliot didn’t answer. Instead, he walked away and into his room. He left the door open, so Quentin took that as an invitation to follow. Standing just inside the door, Quentin watched as Eliot moved across the room and stopped just before he got to his bed. Bending over, he tenderly picked up a stray white t-shirt on the ground.

“This is Mike’s,” Quentin held his breath as he waited for Eliot to react more. He didn’t, simply tossed the shirt aside then climbed into bed and turned off the light. Quentin shifted from one foot to the other; he wondered if this was his cue to leave. “Will you stay?” Eliot’s voice almost surprised him in the dark, but Quentin took a step forward.

“If you want,” he said softly, the only light in the room was what was spilling in from the hallway, but it wasn’t enough for him to see Eliot in the bed.

“Just until I fall asleep,” he almost sounded worried, like he shouldn’t be asking. Quentin went over to the bed, his eyes adjusting to the low light and he finally saw Eliot again. 

“I can stay,” Quentin said and sat on the end of the bed. “It’s not a problem.” He could only barely see Eliot smile, but it was enough to make Quentin finally feel like he was handling the situation. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever fall asleep again,” Eliot admitted moving so he was on his back. 

“Do you want to call Margo?” Quentin asked. He had asked a few times already and had not gotten a response.

“I don’t want to,” Eliot finally said quietly. “She, uh, she tried to get rid of Mike before.” Quentin nodded, Eliot never fully explained what he had meant when he said Margo had tried to kill Mike, but it hadn’t been that unbelievable of a story, so Quentin never asked for more information. “Somehow this feels like it makes her right.” Eliot looked to Quentin, maybe for confirmation, but Quentin didn’t know what his response should be, so he merely shrugged. 

“I don’t think she’ll see it like that,” he answered honestly. Margo could be a bitch, but even she couldn’t gloat about this. At least he hoped.

“I know,” Eliot conceded and let his arm drop across his eyes. “Just feels that way.” Quentin could understand that and let his bag drop from his shoulder and pulled an arm around himself.

“I get that,” he told Eliot quietly. “You can call her when you want, or just wait till she gets back.” He couldn't tell, but Eliot might have smiled a little before he scrubbed his hand roughly across his face.

“Do you hate me?” Quentin wasn’t sure he heard the question right and moved, so he was closer to Eliot on the bed.

“Hate you?” he asked, and Eliot nodded, now looking at him intently. “Why the hell would I hate you?” 

“I’m a killer Q,” Eliot said with a ghost of a laugh. “I’ve killed two people. Two innocent people who didn’t deserve to die but they did because of me. How am I any better than the Beast?” Quentin couldn’t believe Eliot would think like that and his heart ached that he did. Eliot had shown Quentin more kindness than almost anyone he had known in his entire life. He did it in his own unique and peculiar way, but he had made Quentin feel, for the first time in his life, he was where he belonged.

“Eliot, you are not a killer,” he said almost leaning over him now. “You saved Dean Fogg’s life tonight, do you understand that?” Eliot didn’t move or react to anything Quentin said. “It was the Beast who was controlling Mike. The Beast is the reason Mike is dead, not you.” Eliot turned his head away, and Quentin grabbed onto Eliot’s leg tightly. He waited until Eliot looked back at him to continue. “And the other guy, Logan, you said it yourself, you barely thought the thought.” 

“I thought it though.” Eliot pointed out. 

“Who gives a fuck?” Quentin asked exasperatedly. “You didn’t mean for it to happen. Therefore you aren’t a killer.” Eliot didn’t say anything and Quentin didn’t expect him too.

“You’re sweet Quentin,” Eliot finally said. “You are more than I will ever deserve.” Quentin frowned at that, not understanding what he meant, and Eliot turned on his side. Hugging his pillow close, he closed his eyes, and within a few minutes his breathing evened out, and Quentin realized he was asleep.

Quentin thought back to a few days ago, right after Penny was attacked, he had told Sunderland that there had been something off with his eyes. Eliot knew it too, insisting it was mind control from the moment Dean Fogg had sat them on the couch in the infirmary and told them to stay. Why hadn’t anyone listened? None of this would have happened. Eliza would be alive, and she could give him the answers he needed. They might have been able to save Mike; there was probably a solution just like the one they found for Penny. And Eliot would never have had to kill the first person Quentin saw him giving a real shit about it. Balling his hands into fists, Quentin stood up. He was going to the Dean and demand some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	4. Alice

Eliot couldn’t take his eyes off Alice’s dead body; her eyes wide and unseeing. Swallowing against the pain that was building inside him, he tightened his hold on Quentin’s shaking body; whose sobs only seemed to get louder with each passing second. He felt like they were never going to move. That time had stopped around them, and there was no future, just this horrible moment. Quentin was bleeding and crying so hard he could barely breathe, Eliot briefly wondered if he would die right now in his arms.

 

Margo was the first one to pull herself together. Eliot watched her as she shouted out orders to him and went to find the royal carriage. She was so much stronger than he was and he was so grateful that she was there. Quentin wasn’t so much crying anymore, but coughed wetly, his body quivering with each hack.

 

“Q,” he whispered, pressing his lips against Quentin’s head. “You need to breathe.” Quentin continued to cough, and Eliot saw the ground sprinkled with blood. Pulling Quentin up so he could get a better look at him, Eliot realized Quentin was coughing up blood, and the bleeding from his shoulder hadn’t stopped. Eliot’s heart started to pound in his chest. Maybe Quentin really was about to die in his arms. “Quentin?” he asked desperately, smoothing back his hair.

 

“Is she dead?” Quentin’s voice shook, and blood was dripping down his chin. “El, is she really dead?” If Eliot’s heart could break anymore, it would, but seeing the pain in Quentin’s eyes left his heart feeling like it was nothing but dust.

 

“Yes,” Eliot said, gently wiping the blood off his chin “She’s dead.”

 

“Oh god,” Quentin cried, he brought one hand up, clutching at the collar of Eliot’s shirt. His other hand hung limply at his side. “Oh god, I killed her, I killed her.”  Eliot shook his head and ran his fingers through Quentin's hair, trying his best to soothe him.

 

“No, Q,” he said. “Don’t talk like that.” Quentin started to cough again, blood coming up and he shut his eyes tightly, clearly in pain. “Margo!” Eliot was terrified now. Margo came running back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Quentin.

 

“Shit,” she said and gave a quick look over her shoulder. “Okay, apparently the place we need to take him is called the retreat, the centaurs there can help him.” Behind her, Eliot could see the royal carriage coming up.

 

“Centaurs?” Eliot asked, instinctively pulling Quentin closer. “We’re going to trust horse people with Q?” Margo came forward, kneeling down in front of him, she reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand.

 

“El,” She said looking into his eyes. “They will help him. He will be fine. You need to remember that, don’t lose it now.” She looked at Quentin, still in Eliot’s arms and clutching his shirt tightly. “You hear that Q? You’re going to be fine.” Quentin just closed his eyes and turned his face into Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head and nodded to Margo.

 

“You’re right,” he said taking a deep breath. He got Quentin’s uninjured arm around his neck and one of his arms under Quentin’s knees. He stood carefully, stumbling backward a little while he adjusted to Quentin’s weight and struggled for a moment to balance him without doing further damage to his shoulder. He nodded to Margo, and she took his arm and led him over to the carriage.

 

It wasn’t easy to maneuver both their bodies through the small door, but eventually, Eliot got Quentin inside the carriage. He tried to lay Quentin across the seat, but Quentin wrapped his arm tightly around Eliot’s neck, refusing to let go. Eliot looked over his shoulder at Margo not really sure what to do.

 

“Stay with him,” she instructed. “You guys go, get him help. I’ll stay here.” Eliot sat down, laying Quentin on his lap, and gave Margo a worried look.

 

“Why?” he asked. Margo looked away from him, and over her shoulder, Eliot saw Alice again.

 

“The driver sent some talking bird to Whitespire,” She said looking back at Eliot. “I’ll stay here and deal with all this.” Eliot’s eyes were still on Alice in the distance, a part of him felt like if they waited long enough, then she would get up.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes finding hers and he was surprised to see tears in them.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” She said tightly pulling her arms around herself. “I can at _least_  do this for-” Alice was the unspoken word there, and Eliot understood. “Just get him help.” Eliot looked down at Quentin, who was lying face up in his lap. He was watching Eliot, but he looked unfocused, he wasn’t even sure if Quentin was even listening. “I’ll meet you there.” Margo shut the door and ordered the driver to go, With a lurch, the carriage started moving, and Eliot’s eyes stayed on Margo until she was out of sight.

 

“Eliot?” Quentin’s voice surprised him. It was weak, and horse and Eliot pressed his hand against Quentin’s cheek.

 

“Hey,” he breathed, stroking his cheek slowly. “I’m going to take you someplace that can help. Just hold on okay?” Quentin shook his head a few times before looking up at Eliot with huge, wet eyes.

 

“Eliot is she dead?” he asked. “Is she really dead?” Eliot closed his eyes; he was beginning to fear that he was going to have to keep telling Quentin over and over that Alice was dead.

 

“Yes Q,” he said bringing his face closer to Quentin’s with hopes that he would focus more. “Alice is dead.” Quentin’s face crumbled, and fresh tears fell from his eyes.

 

“No,” he sobbed. “I killed her, oh my god; I killed her.” Being careful of his shoulder, Eliot lifted Quentin up, so he was resting against Eliot’s chest.

 

“Don’t say that,” Eliot said resting his chin on Quentin’s head. “Alice was already gone, it wasn’t her anymore.” Quentin pushed back against him so he could look up at Eliot. The blood on his lips stood out against the grey shade of his face; it made it look like paint that you would assume was too bright to be real.

 

“That’s not an excuse.” he spat. “It was still her; I hurt her, then I told her to face the Beast, and then I killed her. I killed her”  Eliot took Quentin’s face into his hands and gave it a small shake.

 

“No, no, you have to stop saying that.” He ordered. Quentin tried to move his face away, letting out a cry but Eliot held on. “That wasn’t Alice. She niffined out Q, she was gone, and she was going to kill you.” Quentin stilled, and Eliot let one hand drop, the other brushing Quentin’s hair back.

 

“I know,” he whispered. “I was going to let her.” Eliot closed his eyes and hugged Quentin close to him. He wasn’t surprised by Quentin’s admission. There was this unspoken thing between them, an understanding of a pain that was dark and twisted. A kind of pain that made death almost seem logical. Eliot didn’t say anything, just held Quentin tight and soon Quentin’s good arm wrapped around Eliot and hugged him back.

 

“You’re not a killer,” he told him, and the echo of a similar conversation between filled the air and Quentin pulled back to look up again.

 

“She was going after you and Margo,” he said slowly, his words almost slurring together. Eliot nodded, looking at Quentin’s eyes carefully, unsure that Quentin would stay conscious much longer.

 

“That’s right,” Eliot said, encouraged at least little that Quentin seemed to understand his actions were in self-defense.

 

“She was going to kill _you_.”  Quentin rests his head against Eliot again, closing his eyes he coughed weakly. Eliot rubbed his back and nuzzled his face into Quentin’s hair. Those horrible finale moments, when Alice had been walking towards he and Margo replayed in his mind. The only thought that went through his head was “ _As long as it’s not him._ ”

 

“You saved us Q,” he whispered. “You’re not a killer; you saved us.” Quentin went still in his arms, and Eliot realized he had finally passed out. As the carriage bumped along the uneven road, Eliot held Quentin close and silently begged to a god he didn’t believe in to spare his friend. “Please don’t die, please don’t die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	5. Arielle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one could be read as a continuation of my fic "Today has been Okay" also could be read on it's own

Arielle looked like she was sleeping, completely peaceful and beautiful. Quentin’s heart had lurched with hope when he had walked into their home and saw her on the bed. His first thought was that Eliot was wrong or this had been some sick joke the two had thought up while he and Rupert were in the village. Once he stood over her though and waited for her to grin, he realized she was dead. Quentin sat at her side and took her hand. The coldness of it surprised him, and he began to sob.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but suddenly Eliot was standing next to him. His face was ashen and serious. His eyes looked almost as lifeless as Arielle was. Quentin hadn’t been with her when she died, but Eliot had. He had yet to dip his toe into the ocean of feelings he knew was brewing inside him at that simple fact, but now there were more important things to worry about.

“I took Rupert to the Ketterly’s,” Eliot said, his voice sounding as hollow as he looked. The Ketterly’s were their closest neighbor. A sweet older couple whose children were all grown so they would often bring Quentin and Eliot food and clothing during their first few years before Arielle had moved in. “Aliana said she’ll watch him while we take care of-” he trailed off and sat heavily down on the bed, turning his back to Arielle’s body. “I enchanted a letter to Dent right after...it happened. He’ll be here soon to take her to their parents.” Quentin nodded. He was relieved that telling her family was off his shoulders. At some point, Quentin and Eliot’s hands found each other across the bed, and Quentin threaded his fingers through Eliot’s.

“Was she in pain?” he whispered. She had been sick for the past two weeks, and it hadn’t been easy. Her head had hurt her so much that she had passed out from the pain. She couldn’t open her eyes for more than a few minutes at a time most days. She would go from cold to burning hot in a matter of minutes, and Quentin felt like there was nothing he could do to help her from any of this. 

“She didn’t seem to be,” Eliot said looking at her now. “She said she wasn’t.” She had woken that morning seemingly better, and he had allowed himself to hope that this was all over. They had gotten her through it, and everything would go back to normal. At her suggestion, he and Rupert went to the village; it was the first time he’d been in the fresh air since Arielle had gotten sick. He had been so reluctant to leave her side, and then once he did she had left him. 

“How did this happen?” Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, and he squeezed Eliot’s hand tighter. “I thought she was getting better; I would never have left. I should never have left her.” Eliot had him wrapped in his arms even before he finished that sentence. Quentin practically screamed into Eliot’s chest, the pain beginning too much to take. 

“It just happened,” Eliot said softly as he started to rock him. “She was sick, and her body couldn’t take it anymore. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“I could have been with her,” Quentin said into Eliot’s shoulder. “I could have been here and told her I loved her.” Eliot’s fingers carded through Quentin’s hair in that way that was most calming to him.

“She knew you loved her Q,” he told him. “She loved you too. She wanted you and Rupert to have a good afternoon together. She wanted you to be happy.” Quentin pulled back then, a flash of anger spreading through him.

“Then she shouldn’t have fucking died!” he exclaimed. Eliot just nodded calmly, how he was so calm was beyond Quentin’s understanding but he so grateful that he was.

“You’re right,” he said simply and brought his forehead to rest against Quentin’s. “You’re right.” Quentin clutched onto Eliot’s shoulders and sobbed. His whole body felt like it was coming apart at the seams and every nerve was exposed to the world, unprotected to every ounce of pain that was imaginable. He thought he had felt pain at losing someone he loved, but the loss of his wife, the mother of his child, was a whole new level of pain.

“What are we going to do?” Quentin asked, still pressing his face into Eliot’s chest. The feel of Eliot’s heartbeat underneath him was calming him, a reminder that Eliot was still here. Eliot was still alive. 

“We’re going to keep going,” Eliot said simply as if it was that easy. “We’re going to raise Rupert and make sure he never forgets his mother.” Quentin closed his eyes, more tears were threatening to drop, but he couldn’t take it anymore. Rupert had lost his mother. Rupert, who was only four, was going to grow up with her only as a vague memory in his mind. She would be more of a character from stories that they told rather than a flesh and blood person who used to sing him to sleep every night and dreamed his whole life before he was born. “We’re going to do the puzzle and keep up her garden. We’re going to live Quentin because we’re alive.”

“How are we supposed to do all that without her?” Quentin asked looking up at Eliot now. He was surprised to find tears covering his cheek and his eyes bloodshot. He remembered then that while Arielle had been his wife, Eliot had loved her too.

“I don’t know,” Eliot answered honestly, his voice cracking with emotion. “But it’s what she wanted us to do. She wanted us to keep going; she wanted us to be okay.” The pain coming from him was something that Quentin didn’t want to ignore. He didn’t want to feel jealous that Eliot was with her when she died, and Quentin wasn’t. He didn’t want to have a competition on who was in more pain. Somewhere in his mind, he felt those feelings might come to the surface if he let it, but right now he wanted to comfort Eliot as much as Eliot was comforting him.

“Thank you,” Quentin said hugging Eliot tightly. “For being here, for being with her.” Eliot hugged him back, dropping his face into the crook of Quentin’s neck and let out a painful cry.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry Q,” Quentin closed his eyes and it was his turn to rock Eliot, letting his fingers run through his hair. “I told her I would take care of you and I will. I promise you; we’ll be okay.” Quentin looked at Arielle’s still body again, and he wanted to shout at her. Scream and ask why she had done this. Why she sent Quentin away and kept Eliot at her side. After the past eight years, how could she do this to them? Those were answers he was never going to get, but he knew right then, they would be the questions that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” Quentin said pulling back and Eliot’s face in his hands. “I love you, El.” Eliot nodded and kissed him fiercely. Outside, they heard the sounds of Dent’s wagon coming to a stop, and Quentin knew it was time they had to start moving forward. Eliot looked over his shoulder, and Quentin watched as Eliot pulled himself together in a way Quentin never could.

“Here we go,” Eliot said, and Quentin nodded. The next hour or so flew by in flashes of images that Quentin felt no part of and Dent’s cries over his sister's body were something Quentin wasn’t prepared for, and he felt like he had failed him and her entire family. 

Dent would get Arielle’s body to her parents where they would bury her in the family cemetery. Then they would get Rupert and follow the next day. A funeral would happen, and she would be in the ground within a few days. Then it would be time for he, Eliot and Rupert to keep going. It wasn’t going to be easy, and Quentin was sure this feeling of strength he had right now would be fleeting, but at this moment, he had Eliot, and that was more than he would ever need.


	6. Chapter 6

Ten years. They had been here for ten years. Quentin remembered the first couple of days, back when they thought they could solve the puzzle so quickly and that they would be back in no time. He sometimes missed those days. Back when getting out of here seemed like a possibility instead of a dream they were forever chasing. Back when he could still remember the right shade of brown Julia’s eyes were or the soft sounds of Alice singing when she thought no one was listening. The past, their other life, it was fading into just a memory, and it had only been ten years.

“Alright,” Eliot said sitting down next to him on their blanket they spread out. “A present from Dent of all people.” Eliot held out a bottle of very nice fruit wine that you could only get in Brass City, so it had to have been expensive. 

“He got us this, and he’s watching our kid for the next three days?” Quentin asked. He hadn’t always liked his brother in law, but after Arielle died, he stepped up and offered help whenever he could. “Crap, we’re going to have to get him something really nice for his birthday.” He pouted, and Eliot kissed his cheek.

“Never change Q,” he said and poured him some wine. 

It had been two years since Arielle died and Quentin still hadn’t entirely shaken the feeling that she wasn't going to walk up the path one day and tell them she’d just been on a long trip and she was home. Sometimes he thought he heard her voice over his shoulder or when he was in the village, he would catch sight of red hair and think it was her. She was gone, and Quentin understood that she wasn’t coming back. Surprisingly, things had moved on. Rupert was six, and he was smart and funny. He was a handful at times; he had boundless energy it seemed. He kept he and Eliot busy, and there was always a lot of laughter in their home.

He and Eliot were different too. Losing Arielle had changed them both, and it had been a little of a struggle in the beginning. Adjusting to a two-parent team rather than three had been harder than they wanted to admit too and Quentin felt the guilty when he knew how lucky Rupert was to have two healthy parents who loved him. Quentin hadn’t dealt well at first, refusing to get out of bed for the first two weeks after Arielle’s funeral, but Eliot had been there. He took care of Rupert and him, Eliot was the reason they made it through. 

Quentin hated the sentiment of moving on. It somehow felt disrespectful to Arielle’s memory. Like they hadn’t had needed her in the first place, but he knew that wasn’t true. She had shown him what true love was about when she told him it was okay that he loved both her and Eliot. That real love wasn’t a singular thing that he could hold only for one person, but something you shared, and it just made everyone stronger. Her acceptance and understanding had changed Quentin, and he knew that the best way to honor her memory was to keep going and live how she had wanted them to live.

“Happy Anniversary,” Eliot said with a smile, he held up his cup and clinked it against Quentin’s. They sat on their blanket on the mosaic; the torches lit around them. It was their tradition and one they looked forward to every year. “To ten years at this thing.” Quentin chuckled, and they both drank their wine.

“Do you think it will take another ten?” Quentin asked. Eliot leaned back on his hands and looked up at the night sky as he thought about that.

“If it does,” Eliot finally said. “I’m happy I get to spend ten more years here with you.” Quentin rolled his eyes, but he smiled and gave Eliot a gentle shove.

“Sap,” he scoffed, and Eliot laughed before leaning over and kissing him.

“You love it,” he reminded him, and Quentin shrugged. Eliot reached for his cup again and took another drink. Quentin watched him, the light from the fire dancing across his face and Quentin thought back to everything they had been through together. Brakebills, the Beast, their friends, Fillory, losing magic, being separated and finally coming here. He often wondered what would have happened if he had been here with someone else, but now he didn’t care. The quest sent them, and Quentin really believed they two were the only ones who could do this. 

The bond between them had seemingly been there from day one, possible residual effects from the previous 39 timelines, but it had now solidified into something completely unbreakable. Quentin couldn’t imagine what life would be like if they ever solved this puzzle and went back to their old lives. He didn’t know how they were supposed to jump back into the key quest as if nothing happened, but one day it would happen, and they would have to figure that out as well. Quentin knew though, and he didn’t want to ever be without Eliot in his life.

“Hey El,” he said softly. Eliot turned to him with a soft smile. “I love our life here.” Eliot smiled wider and leaned in to kiss him.

“I do too Q,” he assured him, and Quentin took his hand.

“I don’t want it to change,” he said. “For however long we’re still here, another ten years or we figure out the puzzle tomorrow, I want it to be you and me from now on.” Eliot looked confused, but a smile was hiding under it.

“Q,” he said squeezing Quentin’s hand. “You know I’m okay if you find someone else, I know we can never replace Arielle, but if you ever-”

“I don’t want that,” Quentin said cutting him off. “I want you and Rupert. We’re a family El, and this family is all I’m ever going to need.” Eliot slowly smiled, like he had hoped for this for longer than he would admit too.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Quentin answered him with a kiss, pulling back he tucked a loose curl behind Eliot’s ear.

“I love you, Eliot,” he said. “You are my family.” Eliot pulled Quentin close and kissed him deeply. As they lay down on the blanket, ready to solidify their new resolve, Quentin knew that their relationship would always be more open than a traditional relationship. It was what worked best for them, but now their home would be for them only. They had a child to raise and quest to complete. The only way to do that was together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked it! Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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